The influence of my days on the trading floor in the late 80’s has had a pronounced effect on many other areas of my life; including, strangley enough, my Art. (As you’ll see from the two pieces below: An article from Gallery Magazine in 1999 and an excerpt from the July update to my website’s “Currently” page)

Traders typically fall into two categories: Fundamentalists who trade, essentially, on news (crop reports, inventory levels, weather patterns etc.) and Technical analysts who believe that all the information needed to trade can be extrapolated from charts. Being a “visual” person, and a draftsman, I was naturally drawn to the latter. The uncanny ability of chart formations and patterns to predict future movements in the market revealed something deeper, I believe, than trader’s sentiment alone – the sum of all available information, interpreted and acted upon by numerous individual traders. The fact that a chart of rainfall patterns in the mid-west was, essentially, indistinguishable from that of copper, for example, said that even the most man-made of markets obey the same natural laws. It is hard to think of the S&P index as being “organic”; and yet, close scrutiny of the chart formations revealed exactly the same ebb and flow of any other - seemingly random - stream of data. As a trader I was particularly drawn to the clear-cut nature of this occupation: at the end of the day you were right, or you were wrong. There were no shades of gray, and this absolutism appealed very much to the draftsman in me. But there was room for artistry in this game also. It was possible - for a trader on the floor at least - to make profitable trades even when wrong about the ultimate direction of the market. “Scalping”, as it is unflatteringly known in the trader’s vernacular, takes advantage of inefficiencies and small, temporary distortions of the market.

This is something of a departure though, from the point I would like to illustrate: It was not so much the act of trading – despite its usefulness in confirming a situation – but the process of seeking to understand, in a visual way, what the data has to say.

Years of chart analysis – with an understanding of just how important these embedded formations are to comprehending the underlying nature of things – has made the process of pattern recognition habitual; it has become the way in which I perceive the world around me. Not surprisingly, this “disposition” has been particularly advantageous in its application to the more artistic endeavours in my life. Unlike Mathematician John Nash, who was unable to “indulge [his] appetite for patterns”, I have employed this method for years in the creation, and modification of, scenes I encapsulate on canvas. Although I’ve occasionally written about the role of math in art, I mention Nash because of the recent film based on his life and work. The second scene of “A beautiful mind” illustrates in the most brilliant way – through the analysis of an ugly tie – a real world example of this experience. It gave me goose bumps to see this process demonstrated so effectively; the first of many situations in the film that echoed so much of my own understanding of world (as in the essay excerpt below). Fortunately, as an artist, I don’t have to find a mathematical explanation for this phenomenon. To know that these Symmetries and Parallels do exist, and to apply them whenever possible, is enough.

As a realist, I am always trying to understand the nature of the world in which we live. In much the same way as I might look at a graph of data from the market and, through the isolation of various chart formations, arrive at a clearer vision of the underlying reality, I disassemble and reconstruct the images that I see in the world around me. And the term which best describes my work, in both methodology and concept, is re-constructivism. This particular "ism" emerged, not surprisingly, from post-deconstructivism; and, as my own approach builds on the four defining characteristics of this philosophy, perhaps I might be so bold as to claim neo-reconstructivism as a label for my own particular form of expression.

Technique, I think, is a secondary consideration. For myself art is a means of understanding the things I see in the world. Working and re-working colours, studying in fine detail the subtleties of shape and texture within a composition. Painting allows me the time to fully absorb the subjects of my work.

The naturalistic theme of my work results from a belief that the natural world is an expression of perfect equilibrium and balance. All things in existence are forms of energy. Complex harmonics and symmetries give shape and form to the world - the music of the spheres. Things we are drawn to resonate with an energy similar, or complimentary, to our own. This energy which informs and animates life has been recognized by people for thousands of years. They called it Chi, Prana, and Spirit. Today quantum physicists look for a "Unified Field Theory" to perhaps explain this age-old creative force.

Music, sculpture and painting are our attempts to participate in this universal creative process and control these forces ourselves to recreate the world according to our own vision. The most exhilarating experience, I find, is when a painting seems to take on a life of its own; the paint goes down almost without any thought and three-dimensional forms emerge, almost magically, out of the blank canvas. These are times that I work until the small hours of the morning, even when I don’t have a deadline. Coming from a commercial background I used to have the attitude that a painting should be worked on relentlessly until complete. Ten years later though, I find working on a number of pieces alternately is the best approach. Sometimes it is important to put a little space between yourself and the work. A fifteen minutes walk in the garden, for instance, is often enough to provide that new perspective. Viewing work in reverse through a strategically placed mirror only works to a point. Being in the countryside is most important thing for me in order to focus on my work. I find cities and suburban landscapes chaotic and discordant. When creating the spaces in which we live, very few architects and civil engineers seem able, or perhaps, are allowed, to create structures that compliment their surroundings. The resulting urban landscape, though sometimes criticized, has generally been accepted; and if not liked, is lived with. Over time though, this disjointed, synthetic world, I believe, has a far greater effect on our psyche than we know.

In the natural world, the rhythms of life are relatively undisturbed. This is a nurturing environment and for me a constant source of inspiration. We are inextricably and ultimately dependent on the natural world. Painting for me is an attempt to rediscover this connection.

With permission, Gallery Magazine : Summer issue 1999.